Only A Century Away
by huffle-bibin
Summary: When a girl mysteriously shows up on the docks of Brooklyn, what will Spot do? Especially when he finds out she can't talk! Set roughly 6 months before the strike. For Spot-Week!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I'm Baaaack! This is my birthday persent to myself (yeppers, at 1 in the morning, I am 2 hours and 11 minutes away from being 16.) So instead of sleep (which I need) I'm taking a break from homework and putting up the intro to my Spot week submission. And yes, I know it doesn't start until April 1st, but its Hell Week (which means play from when school gets out to 9, then home by 9:30 or 10, then homework until whenever the heck its done), so heaven only knows when I'll get to type again, and I'm running Spot week, so this is to get the word out. And because I want a Spot-centric story :D**

**PS- FYI, Meara is an Irish name based off of the Irish word mara, which means sea. Now onwards!**

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Spot sat, overlooking the docks of Brooklyn. No one was around, probably because everyone who was half-way sane was still asleep. A light breeze ruffled his hair as the sun began to rise, its rays kissing the water, causing it to glow in all its glory. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the salty mist coat his face and the smell of the water to penetrate his body. It was only in the wee hours of the morning when he felt truly at peace, truly safe. This was Spot's home.

A century away, a girl sat, overlooking the docks of Brooklyn. No one was around, probably because everyone who was half-way sane was still asleep. A light breeze ruffled her hair as the sun began to rise, its rays kissing the water, causing it to glow in all its glory. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the salty mist coat her face and the smell of the water to penetrate her body. It was only in the wee hours of the morning when she felt truly at peace, truly safe. This was Meara's home.

As Meara sat, the breeze grew into a gall wind, whipping her hair around her face violently, ripping the loose zip up hoodie off her shoulders. She did not cry out, did not whimper in pain or in fear. She stood, blood oozing from the cuts appearing on her face and now uncovered arms from the pebbles being whipped around. Slowly the assault of pebbles slowed, and they got larger and larger, until it was obvious that someone was using a slingshot and marbles. She looked out from the docks of Brooklyn and saw the same sunrise, but now she wasn't alone. She turned around at the same moment that the final marble was loosed. Striking her between the eyes, she fell to the dock, knocked out from the force and the shock.

Spot opened his eyes to see a vortex of wind and rocks forming on his docks. He began to shoot marbles into it, unwittingly hitting the person inside of the vortex. As he let one final marble fly, a girl turned around and was struck between the eyes. She fell quickly, not able to keep standing. With a flying leap, he landed not all that gracefully next to her, scooping her up into his arms. He may not have been the kindest person in the world, but he couldn't leave a girl in the middle of his territory, hurt and confused. Well, he assumed she would be confused, because he sure as heck was. He began the short walk back to the Lodge, with the promise of an insteresting day putting a bounce in his step.

A/N Review, please? It would be one of the best birthday presents ever! (Right behind the brownies I'm getting in 9th hour and sleep)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Hello all! I apoligize for the lack of updates. Between the APUSH exam on Friday (AHHH!!), my dad moving to California for a year and life deciding to upchuck a ton of crap on me, my writing has been put on the back burner. But never fear, more updates shall soon be on the way!! Review please!!! (yeah, I'm saying it up here. You don't need two authors notes bugging you :)**

**I don't own Newsies. If I did, I would be with them right now, not studying for this APUSH exam.**

**PS- FYI, Meara is an Irish name based off of the Irish word mara, which means sea. Now onwards!**

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Spot burst into the Lodging House in a blaze of glory, the golden sun lighting his back dramatically as the limp girl in his arm began to stir. The boys sitting in the lobby waiting for their friends looked up in surprise.

"'Ey Spotty, a wee bit early for a conquest, ain't it?" Hothead, Spot's right hand man, asked in a thick Irish accent, laughing at the same time.

"Sod off Hothead," Spot said softly as he began to walk up to his room, ignoring the other crude comments he received.

Once Spot reached the bunkroom, he put the girl on his bed, noticing her odd choice of clothing. Old, baggy dark brown pants were complemented with a tight, well loved, green shirt. Through the holes a dark red undershirt was visible. A grey hat, the twin to his own in fact, was jammed on her head. A pair of clunky, round toed, black shoes was tied onto her feet by hot pink laces, clashing tastefully with the rest of her outfit. His eyes traveled from the odd clothing to the girl's face. Her face was peaceful in her unconscious state, even covered in cuts and bruises. A sharply pointed chin broadened out into an oval shaped face. Thin pink lips, a long, skinny nose and wide eyes were the most noticeable features. As her eyes fluttered freckles dotting her nose and high cheekbones became more apparent.

Suddenly her eyes popped open, and bright green caught the steely blue eyes for a moment, and then darted to the open window and a hole in the ceiling before coming to rest once again on the steely blue eyes of the boy in front of her. "You ok?" he asked gently, not wanted to startle the poor girl.

Mera nodded, avoiding speaking at the current moment. She sat up slowly, wincing as the multiple abrasions on her face and arms began throbbing. "Easy, easy," Spot said softly as he helped her sit up.

"Sos, who are you?" Spot asked in his heavy New York accent. Mera quickly spelt out her name with her hands in response.

"Um, don' wave your hands like dat, it's odd. Are ya gonna tell me who ya are now goil?" he asked, quickly losing patience. His lack of sleep caused his short fuse to become non- existant. Mera slowly and deliberately mirrored the same hand movements from earlier, with a look on her face that said Spot should know exactly what she was saying.

"Ok, now you're tickin' me off. Who are youse and why are youse in Brooklyn?" Spot yelled at the girl. She again lifted her hands to respond, but he wacked them down.

"TELL ME!" Spot roared, his quick temper now ignited. Mera's face turned a dangerous shade of red as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a notebook and a pen. Flipping to a blank page she wrote, 'I'm Mera, and you're a jerk. Mind telling me why you've decided to treat me like crap?'

"Mera, eh? Well Mera, why aren't you talkin' like every udder human bein'?" Spot asked, his temper barely under control again.

'Because I CAN'T you half-wit!' Mera wrote, her pen shaking with the same fury Spot had just possessed.

"Oh," Spot said, properly humiliated.

'Yeah, oh,' Mera wrote. Spot could've sworn that those words were as venomous as anything he spat out in anger, even though they were written on paper.

"Sos, you can' talk," Spot thought out loud, watching Mera's face for a reaction, emotion, or anything. And a reaction he got, if only for a split second. Mera's face showed nothing, but her eyes revealed pure, undiluted fear. She knew what men would do if they knew a girl wouldn't, couldn't, cry out for help. She had hardened herself to the idea long ago, but facing it again terrified her. She quickly hardened her glare again, knowing showing any signs of weakness would encourage potential attackers.

But that split second was enough. Spot saw the fear in her eyes, and sadness shot through his system. He knew that fear, knew what it was to be scared to leave a safe place. He knew that fear, and the hardness in her eyes mirrored the hardness in his own. Both had been abused by those they had trusted, and both were more afraid than they would ever show. With an uncharacteristic surge of affection Spot slowly inched towards her, putting his hand palm up on the bed.

"I know what youse gone through, and I knows how it feels," Spot started softly, treating her much like a hurt wild animal. He felt slightly bipolar, but knew that his unpredictable mood would keep her from getting to comfortable. Besides, she was the stranger in the weird clothes, not him. He doubted she could be comfortable in this situation anyways. He just wanted to keep her off balance so she would slip up.

'Yeah right, and I'm the President of the United States.' Mera wrote sarcastically. Spot didn't even know that writing sarcastically was possible, but it seemed to be.

"Well, stranger things have happened," Spot said thoughtfully.

'Like what?' Mera asked, laughter replacing the fear in her eyes.

"Well, oddly dressed women have fallen onto da docks in da middle of Brooklyn," Spot teased, gently tugging on her hat. She threw her head back in silent laughter as her hand found the hand Spot had left on the bed, letting him know she trusted him. For some reason her trust made him happier than he had felt in a long time.


End file.
